


Don't Look Too Deep

by jaegerpilot



Category: The Almighty Johnsons
Genre: Dubious Consent, F/M, Gen, M/M, Masturbation, Pre-Canon, Sex Addiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-08
Updated: 2014-04-08
Packaged: 2018-01-18 14:51:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1432498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaegerpilot/pseuds/jaegerpilot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anders is a sex addict and doesn't know how to handle life in a functioning way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Look Too Deep

The need was there. It was always there.

(Though it hadn’t always been so strong.)

It had started out as a distraction, a way to get away from the shouting and screams and the plates and dishes being thrown around the house. His father would bellow and his voice was so loud the windows would rattle and the floorboards would shake and it sounded like a hurricane coming up onto land even though they were miles from the coast.  
Anders would always hide in the bathroom. It was because there was a lock on the door and even though he knew if his dad wanted to get at him all it needed was a swift kick, he still felt safer.  
He wanted to be with Ty but Ty was always so scared for their mom; asking this and that with panic in his voice and terror in his eyes, flinching at each and every smash and crash. Anders just wanted to get away from it all and ignore the whole thing. He wanted to be anywhere other than where he was and so he hid in the bathroom, alone, and tried his best to pretend what was happening around him wasn’t there.  
He didn’t know what first prompted him to put his hand down his pants. It was probably instinct, wanting to feel safe and secure so he’d rolled into the fetal position with one hand in his underwear, wrapping it around himself, and it was just so warm and comforting that somehow he knew exactly what to do.  
And when he was done and his mind floated back, the storm had passed and it was quiet throughout the house.

That was only the beginning.

It stayed like that for a while – a means of escaping that he used when the storms came. But Anders had always been sensitive and growing up was only heightening it all. Soon he had his own storms raging inside himself that he had to get away from and by the time his father left for good Anders wasn’t even around. He was down the road at Mrs. Pritchett’s house, rutting her on the kitchen table. Charming Mrs. Pritchett, she’d been the first person he ever did anything with. She was some kid from school’s mom and she had a look in her eyes that told Anders she could help him with what he needed. He always remembered the first time, standing naked in her bedroom, jerking himself off while she watched. He’d been nervous as fuck but that, like everything else, had been whisked away in a whirl of pleasure and ecstasy as he got himself going.  
Word got around – apparently people had little else to talk about in Norsewood other than the pretty blonde blue eyed Johnson boy that seemed a bit of a slut – and while most all of them would never admit it, eventually Anders always had somewhere to go off to whenever the urge struck him.  
And it struck him.  
A lot.  
More and more, unfortunately. 

The looks Mike gave him when he’d come home smelling of sweat and cum were the worst. As if he didn’t already know what he was doing was fucked up.  
“You let anyone in this house know what you’re doing and it’ll be the last thing they ever hear about you,” he’d told him one day. “Christ Anders, think of someone other than yourself for once. Ty’s always looked up to you like you’re a god and now Mom’s gone and he’s just coming into his own – don’t you dare fuck him up just because you’ve got to go around sticking your dick in every hole you come across.”  
Hole, not cunt and so when Ty asked what his PE teacher had meant when he’d asked him to tell Anders that yoga could increase flexibility and, Anders, why are you still talking to a teacher after you’ve already graduated? Anders had punched his little brother in the face and told him to stay the fuck out of his business, his heart pounding in his chest the whole time.  
Then he’d gone over to the PE teacher’s house and fucked the older man incessantly until the feeling like he was absolutely screwing up everything in his life at the exact same time finally faded away into the dark recesses of his mind where it belonged. He’d pushed the man to the floor afterwards and told him if he ever went anywhere near his younger brother he would come back and kill him.

It wasn’t the last time they fucked though.

By the time he was nearing twenty-one he was feeling more out of control than ever. Mike was gearing up to marry Val which was a shit decision being made out of guilt and Ty had been withdrawing under his own dark and gloomy cloud since Mom left. All the while Anders had started feeling insane, like something was trying to claw its way out of him, and it was causing a storm within him that rivaled those of his father. He was petrified and alone and chasing a means to make it all feel better that hadn’t worked in years.  
He couldn’t stop though. By now it was all he knew and he couldn’t remember a day gone by without the restless heaving and moaning of trying to grasp onto that paradise that seemed to lay just out of reach. Nirvana always appeared but a hot and sweaty thrust away and if he was going to die (which he felt like he was) he was going out with a moan on his lips instead of a scream.

He woke up on his twenty-first birthday feeling like his body was about to come apart at the seams. His cock was harder than rock and screaming for a release that Anders gave readily. He slipped his hand down into his boxers and wrapped his fingers around himself, starting up a rhythm that generally never failed him. His mind flashed to images of dicks and cunts and cum and lips sucking him off as he brought his hand up to his own mouth to lick the length from the tip of his thumb to his forefinger before bringing them together around his cock. He was just about there when his door opened up, a knock playing over the wood at the same time and Mike coming into his room.  
“Get up, get dressed, I got something to—” he stopped short, his brain catching up to his eyes as he momentarily took in the fevered thrusting of Anders’ hips beneath his sheets. “Christ, Anders,” he said, turning away quickly. He waited for a reaction, a hasty rearranging of blankets and hands and a tumbling apology so they could forget this ever happened. It’s not like it was the first time; Mike walking in on Anders in an accidentally unlocked bathroom, pumping away with his teeth gritted and his muscles tense, like he was in physical pain. But those times there’d always been a shout and a flurry of bodies moving out of sight and doors closing to hide away things that were supposed to be private.  
This time Anders didn’t do that. His head was slightly tipped up, his left arm draped over his head, his mouth open in a desperate plea for relief and all he could do was moan out, “just… one… second…”  
He wanted to stop, he really did. He couldn’t believe he was sprawled out on his bed, jacking himself off in front of Mike of all people, but damn if the sensible, rightfully embarrassed part of him had any sway over the side that was screaming ALMOST THERE.  
He was mad. He was mortified. He was so close to cumming. And all of it mixed together so that when he finally tipped over the edge he saw lights, he saw stars, he saw heaven still just right out of reach and he let out a loud, guttural, stuttering moan that he’d never heard himself make before. He collapsed in on himself in a flood of bliss that lasted only until he opened his eyes and saw his closed bedroom door, no Mike in sight.  
“Shit.”

And then he was a god. Bragi. God of poetry. More like god of rut whoever you like. It should’ve been a joke but it wasn’t and then there was Mike, trying to master his own fury and he was saying through clenched teeth, “I didn’t want to do this this morning on your birthday but you need to get the fuck out of this house and never come back,” and Val crying in the background saying, “I don’t know why I did it, I don’t know why.” Over and over again and Anders thinking that this was it, this was the gauntlet coming down and if there was ever a moment then this was it.  
Don’t marry her. Don’t. You’ll regret it for the rest of your life. She doesn’t need you, we need you. I need you. I don’t know what’s going on, Mike. I can’t even remember a time when I did. Help. I’m a god and you’re a god and Mom and Dad were gods and Ty will be a god and Axl will be a god and I don’t know how to handle this, don’t kick me out now. Fuck, help me. I can’t stop myself anymore, I’m scared and you just handed me a loaded gun and I’m scared to fucking death Mike, help me.  
“Mike—”  
And then Axl was coming out of his room, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and the moment was gone because he was asking, “what’s going on?” and Ty was trying to usher him back to his room and Mike was looking up, between Anders and Axl and thinking to himself he wasn’t going to let Axl turn out that way.  
“Get out,” Mike said.  
“Where am I going to go?” Anders pleaded.  
Mike grabbed his little brother by the shirt collar and pulled him close so no one else would hear. “You’ve probably fucked half the population of New Zealand by now, I’m sure you can find someone for tonight.” He tossed him back. “I don’t care either way. Just get out.”  
Anders stood in the hallway, momentarily stunned, not sure what to do. And then he did the only thing he could think of, he put on a smile, turned to Val and said, “Call me next time you’re looking for a good time. I know half the shit I do Mike would never dream of—”  
Mike socked him before he could finish.

“Anders! Anders, wait,” Ty called out, running down the road after his brother.  
“Go home, Ty.”  
“Not unless you’re coming with me.”  
Anders stopped and swivelled on his heels. “In case you didn’t hear, Mike doesn’t want me there.”  
Ty stopped and shrugged. “Well, I mean, you kind of slept with his girlfriend,” he said. “Can you blame him?”  
Anders turned away and kept walking. “Thank you, Ty, I had no idea. Goodnight.”  
“Anders, wait, shit.” He reached out and grabbed his brother’s shoulder. “What’s going on?”  
Anders shrugged him off and kept walking. “Mike’s a dick, our family sucks. Same old.”  
Ty fell in step alongside him. “You know what I mean,” he said. “Something’s different.”  
“You’re right,” Anders said, stopping. He turned to his brother, looking him the eyes, thinking of how he made it work on Val. “I’m twenty-one,” he said slowly, keeping eye contact with Ty, “and I still act like a child. I’ve been overstaying my welcome as it is and now it’s done. I’m an asshole. I slept with Mike’s girlfriend because I need everything to be about me all the time and that was the last straw. I’m selfish and I’m egotistical and you will not turn out like me, Ty, okay? You will be caring and kind and you will be the kind of person I never was because that’s just who you are. You are a good person.” Anders smiled and then shook his head, looking down at his shoes and rubbing his eyes. “Forget about me, Ty. I’m not worth any of you guys’ time.”  
Ty stared at him a moment, looking slightly confused and then said, “I just don’t know why you’ve got to be such an ass, Anders. Not everything has to always be about you. Christ, you’re such a child.” He looked at him with disdain and then turned away to walk back home.  
Anders gave a sad smile. “At least my girlfriend didn’t just fuck my younger brother!” he quipped after him.  
Ty shook his head and kept walking.  
“Yeah, happy birthday to me!” he shouted but then Ty started jogging back home and Anders was left alone in the middle of the street. “Yeah,” he said to no one, “happy birthday to me.”

He managed to get a hold of a guy he’d met at a bar one night a while back; in his thirties, tall, not so good looking but not quite what you’d call ugly. The guy had been borderline creepy in his compliments when they’d first met though, enamoured by Anders’ looks, and that night Anders had opted for a more relaxed brunette woman. But he’d kept the man’s number and he was exactly what he needed now.  
“You’re so beautiful,” the man said, back at his apartment, tracing his fingertips along Anders’ lips and then up into his blonde curls. “Just like a putto.”  
Anders didn’t know what that meant but he nodded anyway and forced himself to look straight into the man’s soft gaze. “Mark,” he said, eyes commanding his attention, “you’re going to fuck me tonight. I want it to be hard and rough and I don’t want you to stop no matter what I say.”  
“That doesn’t sound—”  
“Mark,” Anders interrupted, his gaze unwavering, “you’re going to do it. You’re going to let your dark side out, or your little putto is going to get up and walk out of here.”  
Mark nodded and then stood up. “I’ll be right back,” he said. “Get undressed.”

After that Anders realized that things could always get worse – even as a god. (Or perhaps, now especially, as a god. An idiot god.)  
There was suddenly a gag in his mouth, brought up from behind, and a knee pushed into his back while his arms were grabbed and pulled behind him. He fell off the couch and onto the floor, his face pushed into the plush carpet as Mark whispered, “I could’ve loved you so much. You should’ve come home with me before.”  
That’s when Anders learned two lessons at once about being Bragi. Number one was that you always watch what you say and two was that your power doesn’t mean shit if you can’t speak.  
And you can’t speak through a gag. You can scream and you can cry, but you can’t speak.  
At one point he remembered wondering how most gods spent their twenty-first.

In the morning they didn’t call it rape.  
Anders would’ve loved nothing more than to call it absolutely nothing but he wasn’t getting out of there without letting Mark know he did nothing wrong. Mark, crying and cradling Anders until he woke up. Washing the blood off his face from a cut above his eye that Anders couldn’t remember happening. Helping him into the shower and washing him up, though Anders would’ve preferred to have been alone. Mark, even more horrified at what he’d done as he gently went about Anders’ ass with a washcloth. Anders, bracing himself against the shower wall, trying to ignore everything that was going on around him.  
“It’s fine, Mark, it’s fine,” he said, trying to be heard over the sound of the showerhead and the soft crying from the older man. His voice was so quiet though, he wasn’t sure if he was being heard. He wasn’t sure if he ever wanted to be heard ever again. He coughed, cleared his throat, continued. “You were drunk, I wasn’t. It was what I wanted.”  
Mark stood up, his limp cock brushing up against Anders’ thigh, making him flinch. “Then why are you crying?” Mark asked, sounding shattered. He was taking zero pleasure from what he’d done and Anders wondered what kind of man he’d stumbled upon.  
“I’m not,” Anders said, locking eyes and focusing his powers, “it’s just the water from the shower. We had a good time last night. We both got a little drunk, you don’t remember much except that it was nice. You had fun.” He frowned as he focused harder. “But you’ll never call me again. You’ll never see me again. It was good for a night but that’s it.”  
“I’ll miss you,” Mark said.  
“Don’t.”

After that Anders realized he couldn’t look into the mirror and Bragi himself into forgetting certain things. There would be no forgetting the fact he coerced someone into raping him. He wondered what kind of person that made him. He finally figured Mark was more the victim than he.  
He stayed away from men for a while after that. He stayed away from being dominated.

He definitely did not stay away from sex.

He wished he could. It seemed like that was all he wished for since turning twenty-one. He wished he could be a normal person. He wished he could have sex for fun, to feel good. Or at least to stay feeling good afterwards.  
He left a trail of girls wherever he went, an epidemic of young women waking up in bed alone with only a used condom in the trash bin and a memory of a good time. He’d see them sometimes, cross paths with one that he vaguely recognized, and an ill feeling would wash over him. The name for that feeling was shame and disgust but Anders preferred to direct it at the women instead of himself.  
Life was somewhat bearable that way.

Next thing he knew it was Ty’s twenty-first. Tensions were still high, even after three years. Anders hadn’t been to Mike and Val’s wedding. He saw Axl on occasion. Ty, a bit more than that. He’d been to his graduation and such. Ty seemed to have the most patience for Anders. He seemed to see through some of his bullshit. Somehow, despite being raised in the same fucked up Johnson family, he turned out to be an incredibly caring person.  
Anders teased him mercilessly for it.

“You’re a god,” Mike said.  
“A Norse god,” Anders added.  
“What are you guys talking about?”  
“Who do you think he’ll get?”  
“I don’t know, Anders. I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.”  
“Probably the god of pussies.”  
“No, Anders, apparently that’s yours,” Mike countered and Anders gave him a smirk.  
“Boys, stop fighting,” Olaf said. “This is Ty’s day.”  
“What is going on?” Ty asked again.

And such Höðr was reincarnated and Ty became the most miserable person in existence – and yet somehow still more functional than Anders ever was.

**Author's Note:**

> literally to me there is no way anders in'ts a sex addict and so yeah this is how i headcanon him and no one can ever convince me otherwise like this is just how i view anders and it will never change -- sex addict teen delinquent anders 
> 
> i'd written this a while ago but now that i've given up on me ever continuing with it i posted it


End file.
